


put thy raiment upon thee

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Series: trope bingo fills [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Roommates, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: After an unexpected infestation in his quarters, Shiro moves in with Keith. And stays.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: trope bingo fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679653
Comments: 17
Kudos: 192





	put thy raiment upon thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foxienonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxienonymous/gifts).



> For [tearlyfilled](https://twitter.com/tearlyfilled) and foxienonymous | from [redluxite's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/redluxite)trope bingo.
> 
> This was orginally posted on Twitter on March 22, 2020. It has been edited and expanded. 
> 
> [Prompt I-2: I am borrowing (stealing) your clothes](https://twitter.com/ohheck11/status/1240622032838168583)

Shiro owns seven of the same white tank top he wears under his shirt, despite only ever needing to be in the full uniform about twice a week. Keith is more practical, which might be code for _grew up poor_ : he has one shirt and is meticulous about scheduling his on-base uniform days at least one apart, so he has time to do laundry between shifts. 

This extreme minimalism extends to all of Keith’s wardrobe. He owns the undershirt, two regular tee shirts, two pairs of pants, one set of workout gear, and two pairs each of socks and boxer-briefs. He has one complete uniform (jacket, collared shirt, trousers, boots, regulation socks, the works). Shiro, with his actual wardrobe, is a clotheshorse in comparison.

And none of that matters in the least, until Shiro’s quarters are infested with some alien species that is essentially a cassowary. The creatures are aggressive, possibly due to habitat loss, and they take their frustration out on furniture, structural supports, bedding, and, most upsetting, plumbing. It’s a hideous mess that’ll take weeks to repair, and rather than live on his ship and destroy all hope of a work-life balance, Shiro ends up moving in with Keith. 

Neither of them mind the closer contact. They work opposite hours most times, anyway: Keith’s been coordinating Blade efforts with the Coalition, and he’s almost always on the late shift (“I don’t have a family,” he says, meaning a partner or children; “It doesn’t matter what time I go home.”). They take turns sleeping in Keith’s one bed, Shiro at night and Keith during the day. Shiro thinks it’s like living with an exceptionally conscientious ghost. 

He asks Keith if he minds; Shiro’s not nearly as tidy. His clothes have taken up all of Keith’s closet, and Shiro has a frightful habit of leaving in-progress paperwork stacked in piles around the apartment. He has never once remembered to make the bed. 

“It’s nice,” Keith says. “It’s like someone lives here.” 

Shiro remembers, then, that Keith never lived on his own until after the Kerberos mission failed. After that, he still doesn’t make the bed when he gets up — he leaves the bedding sort of jumbled into a nest that Keith curls under without protest — but he does make an effort to visit with Keith when their schedules overlap.

When the cassowaries are finally relocated and the damage to his quarters has been repaired, Shiro stays. It’s not really purposeful. After he gets the notice from Maintenance, he stops by and realizes he doesn't have anything in there that he needs or even wants (he might have at one point, but the cassowaries were thorough). He almost starts packing up his things at Keith’s, but then...he doesn’t. 

Having an invisible roommate is dangerous. Shiro stops doing laundry almost completely, because Keith just takes care of it, the same way he takes care of making Shiro’s breakfast most mornings. He stumbles into the apartment while Shiro’s showering, and there’s always a little plate with something savory and protein-rich waiting when Shiro emerges from the steam. Keith is sometimes waiting with the breakfast, sometimes not; they’re ships in the night, but sharing quarters means they at least see each other, or see signs of the other’s continued existence. 

One evening, Keith gets sent home from his shift on base, covered in the explosive remains of something Shiro doesn’t care to examine too closely. Keith sets his uniform and undershirt to soak, and does the rest of the accumulated laundry, switching the sheets on their bed with a set retrieved from Shiro’s old place. 

Keith’s bed is smaller than Shiro’s was — a full instead of an actual queen — but Keith just tucks an extra fold into the fitted sheet. He’s good at making do. 

“Maybe I should go back in,” Keith says. He’s got an oversized sense of responsibility, which Shiro feels slightly guilty about encouraging so much over the years.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Shiro tells him. “Keith, take your own advice — you’re always reminding me to prioritize sanity, and that includes taking time off.”

Keith pokes stubbornly at the basin he uses to soak stains out of laundry. “Well, I suppose it’d be a bad look if I went in wearing street clothes,” he aquieces. 

Shiro tosses one of his own shirts at Keith. “Shower off and change. It’s movie night.”

Keith laughs, startled, but moves to obey. “Can’t ignore an order from my commanding officer.”

“We’re not even in the same organization!” Shiro calls after him. 

\---

Keith stumbles to the tiny couch — really more an oversized chair — that’s the only furniture Shiro bothered to move into the apartment. Shiro’s already in it, but there’s enough room for the both of them if they squeeze, and Keith doesn't mind squeezing. 

He doesn’t mind not being at work for once, and he doesn’t mind that he’s wearing one of Shiro’s sleeveless undershirts. It’s too big on him, both in length and width, but it’s soft and thin; the collar dips low down his chest, the arm holes drape open along his sides. He feels so casual, dressed like this: it does more to make Keith relax into the impromptu time off than anything else.

“Look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” Shiro says. His voice sounds different, deeper than usual. Keith wonders if Shiro sounds like this at night always, or if he's just pleased to have company. 

“I thought that was the point,” Keith says, probably a little too earnest. “I don’t have to go back to base and all my laundry is in limbo.”

They haven’t talked about this — haven’t needed to, have just been living at opposite ends of the day — so Keith’s a little surprised when Shiro’s usual side-hug turns into a one-armed tug that pulls Keith into his lap. It makes sense; the couch is so small. There’s more room for Shiro to sit this way, with Keith astride him, even if Keith’s knees on either side of Shiro’s hips take up some real estate. 

“This’d be real uncomfortable if you were anyone else,” Keith warns. He’s not big on touch with anyone besides Shiro and maybe his mom, and it’s still weird. He gives Shiro a gentle noogie and renegotiates the position, turning his back to Shiro’s chest and sitting astride one of Shiro’s thighs instead of across both. It’s still an intimate position, but one that doesn’t strain his hip flexors or block the screen for Shiro. “What are you watching?”

“ _We_ are watching old cooking shows,” Shiro says, happily. “They’re fun.”

Keith eyes the screen; a woman with curly hair and deep laugh-lines brandishes a lobster, shaking it until the animal curls its tail. It’s vaguely horrifying. “I think this is against, like, a lot of animal welfare laws.”

“Probably,” Shiro says. “It’s from the late twentieth century. Hunk shared ‘em with me.” 

Neither Keith nor Shiro enjoy violent programs, and both of them are essentially vegan. After living in space for as long as they have, science fiction pales considerably. The cooking show does seem like a compromise, even if it is antique. It’s probably the only footage left of some extinct Earth species (not the lobsters, though: Keith has read about them and is mildly convinced they’re immortal if left to their own devices). 

After another minute or so of the poor lobsters, Keith squirms in protest. “This is pretty dire, Shiro,” he complains. 

Shiro, it seems, hasn’t been paying attention to the screen; he’s been playing with the hem of Keith’s shirt, tugging it away and then rubbing the soft fabric close against Keith’s side. Shiro’s also alternately been stretching one arm out before bringing it back in close so he can rub at Keith’s scalp. It’s nice, but not distracting enough from the kitchen carnage onscreen. 

“Hmm,” Shiro says. “Yeah, I think there’s an episode that’s less gory. Hang on.” He leans forward, looping his arm around Keith to hold him in place, and fishes for the remote. It’s a little old fashioned, to use a remote instead of voice command, but they don’t enjoy talking enough to want to hear themselves ask the infotainment system to change the channel. Keith’s never owned that type of technology anyway, and Shiro has never bothered to read the manual so he can set it up (“Nice to remember I have thumbs,” he said once. Automation can get a little oppressive).

“Here we go,” Shiro says, and the program switches to the same woman, this time battling with an enormous vat of chocolate and cream. “I know you don’t like chocolate mousse, but this one’s pretty funny.” 

It is funny; it’s nice, the way it’s always nice to watch wretched excess and not have to worry about procuring ingredients or cleaning up the mess. 

After that night, Shiro must put in a call to Krolia or something, because Keith’s night shift duties start to drop off. Keith’s never spent so many nights in his own home before. 

They adjust. After they make it through Hunk’s backlog of twentieth century cooking shows, they start making lists of other things to watch. They build a schedule, a chore chart; the apartment feels like home.

\---

Shiro only has himself to blame for Keith's increased presence around the apartment. It’s not an unwelcome development, but ever since he threw an undershirt at Keith, that’s what Keith has gravitated to wearing while he does laundry. And since Keith has so few clothes to his name, he does laundry a lot. 

Shiro was previously unaware of how seriously Keith took the chore, despite being the beneficiary of it. It’s true that the whites of his uniform have never been brighter, and the darks haven’t faded in the slightest, but Shiro never thought about how that actually occurred. Now he watches it happen in real time, admiring the way Keith’s spine rises up against the thin fabric of Shiro’s white undershirt, the way the fabric goes translucent when Keith gets splashed by errant rinse water. 

Keith’s skin looks pale until it’s wet, when the fine dark hairs on his arms slick down close and show up like shadows. It’s a secret. Only Shiro knows it. 

Shiro likes seeing Keith in his clothes, probably more than he should; he shies away from thinking about Keith as his best friend, because there’s so much embedded in his relationship with Keith. It’s not just friendship. There’s nothing _just_ about their friendship. Ever since Keith started being home more at night, they’ve slept together in Keith’s too-small bed, neither saying anything. It’s intimate, but not awkward. 

Shiro likes it — he’s always liked having a person of his own. He’s greedy, he missed this part of everyday life after he and Adam broke up. He likes the sweaty sleep-smell of Keith in the mornings, the way when Shiro can’t sleep he can at least watch Keith at rest, watch his eyelids tremble with rapid-eye movement. He likes the way they can be silent with each other. How they accommodate one another. 

It feels momentous, watching Keith do their laundry while Shiro finally plows through the paperwork languishing on the little table shoved against the wall next to the kitchenette. Shiro is struck, suddenly, by how they two resemble his grandparents in their domesticity. Yesterday he went grocery shopping and restocked the freezer, today Keith is doing their laundry while wearing Shiro’s clothes. Tonight, they’ll watch a documentary about dancing birds.

Love’s not the word for this, Shiro knows. Keith is more deeply embedded in Shiro’s life than that. Even if Shiro never says a word, even if Keith never again sighs and rolls into Shiro’s embrace while he sleeps. What they’ve lived through has compounded with how they live now: Keith is Shiro’s ribs, the one thing that has always protected his heart. 

Keith wrings out the last of the laundry, hangs it on the drying rack, dumps the basin in the sink. He rolls his shoulders back, the scapula visible through draped back and open sides of the shirt; it’s not a tease, though Shiro is caught by the motion, entranced. 

He’ll say something. Soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Book of Ruth (3:3, KJV).
> 
> Shiro is watching Julia Child. Later, they’re going to watch the Netflix documentary “Dancing with the Birds.”
> 
> I really wanted to write more about those cassowaries, but it was not to be. 
> 
> [I'm on twitter. ](https://twitter.com/ohheck11)


End file.
